/ Locating Analogue Interface…

/ Asset found…

/ Location… South Boston, Massachusetts…

/ Local time… 21:37

Sometimes following the whims of The Machine, her God, left Root in the most precarious of positions. Granted she did have Her nattering away in her ear with instructions that should ultimately lead her to safety; but for a fleeting moment Root wished she had some backup.

The irrelevant numbers weren't even her job. She had had her working on the serious threats, the relevant numbers. Terrorist plots that threatened the safety of numerous American lives; that was the kind of calling Root had decided to get behind. The irrelevant numbers, individuals who may be perpetrators or victims of a planned crime that She had determined through her invasive surveillance, were not Root's calling. She would have rather left those to Harold's guard monkey John Reese, or her favourite sociopath Sameen Shaw.

A seductive smile played on her lips at the thought of Shaw; it was just a shame that the gorgeous Iranian-American was off chasing down another irrelevant number and not there to see it. She would have been the perfect backup for this situation; stuck in a warehouse smack bang in the middle of a mob war between the Irish and Italians where her number was being held captive by the Italians, and the Irish, were trying to rescue her. Should be an easy situation really, just help the Irish, but she didn't think that they would take too kindly to her presence and imagined shoot first ask questions later would be their motto.

Root double checked both her pistols were loaded and that she had spare clips before a brief touch on her earpiece. "Busy?" she asked nonchalantly into the air, as she crouched behind some crates, ready to spring forth and rain damage down on unsuspecting mobsters.

"A little," Shaw's response was typically gruff and a little laboured, as she was sprinting after her number, who had turned out to be a perpetrator. "My number's a perp; he decided to run."

"Just kneecap him already, Sweetie." Root sing-songed.

Shaw rolled her eyes, but her voice betrayed the grin she wore as she responded, "Where's the fun in that?"

"Oh Sameen, are you trying to run off your pent up frustration?" Root couldn't help but tease, it was her nature.

Two targets, nine o'clock.

Root barely bothered looking to her left as she pointed her left hand and squeezed the trigger twice, two members of the Italian mob crumpled to the ground from their wounds, their weapons bouncing harmlessly away.

Ignoring the flirtatious teasing, Shaw tackled her number to the ground and tied his hands behind his back with zip ties. The sound of gunfire coming through her earpiece caused an unwanted feeling in her gut. "Don't get yourself killed Root."

Root was up and moving, listening to the directions that were crackling in through her modified Cochlear implant. "Sorry Sweetie, I have to go." She didn't have to sever the conversation, because She did it for her as further commands were directed Root's way.

It was all over within two minutes, as The Machine guided Root effortlessly through the mob numbers, always chirping in with appropriate target directions, ensuring that Root only had to focus on reaching her objective. It was the sort of performance that would leave any outsiders stunned, poetry in motion, the perfect rendition of a sonnet, or a kick returner catching the ball in his own endzone, only to run, sidestep and glide his way untouched up the field for a return touchdown. Simple perfection.

John Reese could infiltrate with surgical precision, Sameen Shaw leaned more towards a little hammer-time when it was her turn; but Root, she had The Machine, and that meant that Root could make the impossible, seem incredibly mundane. It helped of course, that she could dual wield with the precision of a neurosurgeon.

/Locating Admin…

/ Admin found…

/ Safe House, Cambridge, Massachusetts…

/ Local time… 21:38

A mere twelve hours prior, life had been moving along as expected for Detective Jane Rizzoli. She had been leaning back in her office chair sipping at the fresh coffee that her partner Detective Barry Frost had so kindly brought in for her. There weren't any fresh cases, merely cold ones that she and Barry had been sorting through in the hopes of finding new clues. Sure it was a little mundane, but then sometimes that was exactly how she liked it.

Of course she should have known that life had other ideas for her this day. It didn't take much longer for Jane to realise that she hadn't heard from her best friend Doctor Maura Isles, the Chief Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts that morning and so naturally curious, and with nothing better to do she had ventured downstairs into the morgue. The Assistant Medical Examiner Kent Drake informed her that he had not seen or heard from Maura that morning, which was unusual, as she was indeed rostered on.

From there Hell broke loose and somehow, Jane found herself pacing backwards and forwards behind some guy she had never met before, who walked with a limp, wore glasses, and could do things with a computer that her partner Barry Frost couldn't even dream of. Harold, he had politely introduced himself as, when she had reluctantly accompanied another, taller guy in a black and white suit (tieless) back to the safe house they were in.

The fact was she was incredibly anxious and worried about Maura. She thought she had caught up with the thugs that had kidnapped her, only to find herself pinned down by gunfire as they made their getaway. That was when the guy in the suit, (John, according to Harold) had introduced himself and convinced her that everything was in hand and that it would be safer if she allowed him and his associates to do the rescuing. Of course then he had run off and left her with Harold and her fast dwindling patience.

For his part Harold Finch understood the clear concern the detective had for her best friend and had happily discovered that The Machine had full view of the situation. It was quite fortuitous that the Italian mob had chosen a warehouse decked out in up to date surveillance cameras; they had probably installed them, never anticipating that the technology would be turned against them. But then again, there weren't many people out there in the world that knew of the artificial intelligence monitoring their every move; nor that he was the creator of said AI.

"Detective, I have brought up the surveillance footage of the warehouse where Doctor Isles is being held." Harold advised, as his screen split in two, one vision was of Maura bound to a chair, guarded by several mobsters and the other was focused on Miss Samantha Groves, AKA Root, as she prepared to throw herself into the fray.

Jane's eyes narrowed as she assessed the woman who was allegedly going to rescue Maura from the Italian mob. She couldn't tell for sure, but she figured that Root was of similar height, and while Jane didn't like to be underestimated she did wonder how this tall, lithe, brunette with two guns and no back up was going to do anything but get Maura killed. "So help me God if anything happens to Maura…"

Harold frowned, while Root was prone to some strange ideology (she viewed The Machine as God, after all), he had no doubts that she would get the job done. He had of course dispatched Mr Reese as soon as Root had reported in earlier, but the situation was about to get out of hand if she didn't act.

"I promise you detective, Miss Groves knows exactly what she is doing." He had no doubt that if he told Detective Rizzoli the truth, she would firstly look at him like he was insane, but then perhaps feel calmer; but he couldn't tell her the truth, it was a burden he and his team alone would carry. It just wasn't safe for others to know of The Machine's existence; it got people killed.

"So, what is she some sort of government agent or something?" Jane questioned anxiously, looking for any sort of information that would calm her nerves. She had effectively allowed these strangers to talk her into benching herself and rely on them; it didn't sit well with her at all.

Harold simply smiled and offered a cryptic, "Something like that."

On screen the action heated up when Root started her dance with the bad guys, felling one after another with well timed, and often times, no-look shots. Jane watched on in awe as the woman, she knew she had doubted mere moments before, made quick work of the thugs that had been holding Maura captive. Such quick work, that even Doyle's men, who were no doubt there to rescue Maura also, didn't get much of a look in. Jane surmised it was probably best for their health, not that she cared one iota for the men of Patrick Doyle.

The tension left her body when the cameras highlighted Maura being led from the warehouse by Root, where they were met by John. Her mind however, was still stumbling over the precision of the infiltration by Root. It was other worldly as far as Jane was concerned. In fact she could just imagine Frost suggesting it was like watching someone play a video game.

She verbalised the thought, "That looked like something out of a video game."

Sameen Shaw had only been down the block when she collared her number, and as such walked in just in time to hear the exclamation from the detective. She appeared silently beside Jane and glanced over at the monitors, where Harold had so kindly brought up a replay of Root's surgical infiltration and rescue. A smirk graced her features as she responded to Jane's observation, "Yeah, God-mode is a beautiful thing."

Harold shifted in his seat and raised an eyebrow at the former government agent before a knowing smile curled at his lips, "Shall I pass along your thoughts to Miss Groves?"

Shaw glowered at Harold. "Don't you even dare, I'll never hear the end of it."

"Never hear the end of what, Sweetie?" Root's voice reverberated through her ear piece, causing yet another eye roll from Shaw.

Shaw wanted to growl and complain about The Machine's clear interference with her comms, but had to bite her tongue because of Jane's presence. With an exaggerated huff she turned on her heel and quickly exited the apartment so that she had a little privacy.

"For Christ's sake Root, could you and your machine just not eavesdrop on my private conversations?"

"She's not my machine, Sameen."

"Yeah well, at least She got you out alive." Shaw admitted begrudgingly, the frustrations caused by The Machine, paled in comparison to the relative safety that her existence afforded Root. An existence, that Shaw would never outwardly admit she cared about a great deal. She sighed in frustration as she realised, if you couldn't trust a self diagnosis of sociopathy, then what could you trust?

"I didn't know you cared," Root purred smugly.

"I don't." Shaw said icily, "Sociopath, remember. I don't do feelings."

Roots airy laughter reverberated down the line before she seductively intimated; "See you soon, Sweetie."

Shaw's response was to yank out her earpiece and step on it. Anything for a momentary reprieve from the constant flirtations and advances of the hacker, because she knew, one of these days she was going to let her guard down and Root was going to crawl under her skin and never leave. The thought sent a shudder down Shaw's spine; Root might be hot and damn good with a gun, but even she knew that a relationship between a (wannabe) sociopath and a reformed killer for hire was bad news on every front.

Besides, not only didn't Shaw do feelings, she didn't do relationships either. Three nights tops. Root would want more, and Shaw knew if she gave in just once, Root would get more. It was much easier to pretend not to care, much safer too for that matter, for everyone involved.

A/N: Decided to try something new, but still wanted some fall back on my Rizzles ship... but I dunno if this should be elaborated on further. Just wondering if there is any interest out there for a more serious POI AU set in Boston, where the Detective's they end up getting on side are Rizzoli and Frost (instead of Carter and Fusco). I basically am unsure about this whole direction. Would I be better served to just write POI on its own without the cross over facet?